


Lucien's Ends

by LyrebirdArvo, WhiskeyTick



Series: Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [3]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Divergence, Champions/Warriors/Legends Guild HCs, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Injury Recovery, Internal Violent Impulses, Mild Adult Content (No Actual Sex), One (1) Bastard Gremlin Cat, Post-Ritual of the Mahjarrat, Pre-Relationship Pict Vasović/Sliske, Pre-The World Wakes, Raptor HCs, Schizophrenia Written By Schizophrenic, Self-Harm, Sliske Commits Repeated Mild Identity Theft, Sliske/Trindine Implied, Sliske/Wahisietel Implied, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyrebirdArvo/pseuds/LyrebirdArvo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyTick/pseuds/WhiskeyTick
Summary: Year 169 5A (54)One week has gone by since the death of Leukian. Lucien, on the other hand, still has business to attend to. And the person below his face has suspicions that demand an answer.
Series: Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840735
Kudos: 8





	Lucien's Ends

## Sliske

I didn't necessarily enjoy using someone else's face for business.

I didn't necessarily enjoy having several ongoing projects pressing in all at once, either, but that hadn't stopped me from adding this curiosity to the list.

Leukian may have been insufferable to the core, uselessly abusive even on his best of days, but what he did know how to do was scatter a paper trail. Not erase it, but muck it up just enough that I had to put down footwork. Trin probably would have called this a "good hunt" before throwing the responsible party into the canal network.

But there was no Trin, no canal, and not even a Leukian, now.

Not that any of his lackeys had been to communicate that final fact to their colleagues, seeing as they had been irreparably eaten. 

Unfortunate for them, unintentionally useful for me.

_Things to do. Things to do, things to do, things to do._

Dressed in robes that could pass for dishrags, clinging to a walking staff, and suffering an intentionally dislocated leg, "Lucien" looked ready to inflict himself on what passed for his business-as-usual.

I would have begun with Movario, yet after poking around Khazard's gaggle the general consensus that I found was that he had been sniffing around the Ritual site, hoping to lick up residue of the Stone. Nothing I had any use for, but it was at least incentive to tell Gargon to mind the entrances better, just in case the old man found a whiff and got it in his pretty bald head that he was welcome in my downstairs.

The Guild network was my true first bet: the bastard-child project of Misthalin, Asgarnia, Kandarin, and blood-for-coin. Ever the prospective ground for people forced into unpleasant conditions hoping to afford having been forced into unpleasant conditions. People who legitimately enjoyed the work, too, but there was always something different to the way they approached the culture.

The Ardougne branch, I found, had been temporarily closed for fumigation, but the desk at the Burthorpe building recognized the guise.

"It's been a while, Mister Lucien. I'm afraid the merc you pulled on retainer sustained some injury on his last contract, and is still recovering. Someone he frequently works with happens to be in-house now, if you'd prefer, though he specializes in a different approach to solutions."

I weighed a handful of responses that felt suitably like Leukian, and chose: "This is extremely inconvenient, but I will settle for it."

A newer hireling was summoned with an order to show me to "The Raptor," which they did with a sporadic kind of efficiency that involved running ahead and checking every room until they found him, then stood there like a dutiful bellhop until I caught up.

"Visitor for you! Potential job."

"Send them in."

I tipped them, wagering that that was the fitting thing to do, and cursed my determined devotion to accurate acting as the guise's kneecap slid to a new position, dragging a line of nerves along with it.

_I'd guarantee Leukian never did this. I'd bet all he did was that terrible foot-rolling motion. The crowd would eat him alive._

_... Well, I suppose we did._

"The Raptor" sat in a large armchair, hands across his lap, head tilted back ever so slightly into the headrest. With the roaring fireplace, and the otherwise darkness of the commons room, he would have cut a tranquil figure. 

As it was, he was encased in a perplexing full covering of plate armor.

I felt him size me up from behind his dark visor, just as I sized him up from behind the shade of a hood and false eyes.

Strings bound him, but different from those of my own work. These were heavier, allegorically closer to chains that kept him forcibly tied to an anchor like a corpse to a pillar for birds. They lead out, around, and inward again. Self sustained. A singular act of necromancy inexplicably fueling himself.

_Strange. If I didn't have eighty-four thousand plates with just as many meals on them, I would pull you apart just to see what's there. Not that I imagine the information would see any use. There has to be something maintaining that. Someone, maybe. Not one of Zemouregal’s contraptions, even though the taste feels close. He'd have brought you alongside Arrav, just to flash you around. An imp in the chest cavity, maybe. Though, I imagine that would completely incapacitate one. They're not the most robust little things. I suppose you might not be above using one as a battery. Two?_

He spoke, a heavy rasp that reverberated inside of the metal, brushing aside my latest potential rabbit hole.

"Still looking for Agga, aren’t you?"

I noted the name, and the fact that he knew Lucien, but potentially not in a way that would be on the Guild record. "What makes you think I haven't succeeded?"

"I think I would know."

He said it with a kind of self-assured amusement that gave me pause. _It’s possible that Agga is the anchor. The hypothetical imp._

"You think very highly of yourself.” 

"You aren't Lucien."

I thought about devoting energy to a Leukian-like stint of berating him, and instead exhaled in begrudging relief. "No, I am not, and frankly this is the most draining decision I've made recently."

The Raptor laughed - boisterous, yet emotionlessly showman-like in a way I could respect - and slapped a heavy gauntlet down. "I'd say so. Not a soul likes the miserable waste."

"Oh, no, I know _very_ well. I would like to leave this face just as dead as the rest of him, but I need it for a bit longer."

"He is dead, then? Good. I'll be sure to pass the information along. To one person, who doesn't go out much these days. Whatever your business is will stay hidden. I'm not interested in light-footing around."

 _I gathered. I’d wager you could wear this skin better than me._ "Then I won't bore you, so long as you answer one question. The desk attendant mentioned you worked with someone who Leukian - Lucien - had hired before. I want the name."

"The twink," he began, almost dismissive. "Vasović. He's a whiner. Went below Ver Sinhaza with him once, contract for someone up in the Myreque. They keep shoving us together for things. No one here can stand either of us. He did something for Lucien once, toddled back in, bitched over a necklace for about a week, then drank the memory out."

_I knew you did work contracts, but you've been right under my nose this whole time, haven't you darling?_

"A necklace?"

"Didn't pay attention. He might still have it, if you care. He keeps everything he can't sell in that trash heap of a briefcase."

_I didn't see one on him._

_It must have been left in their camp. Supplies, maybe. They'd have taken it back._

I thanked the Raptor for the lead, to which he nodded and waved me off before visibly sinking back within his armor, his hands once more overlaid.

* * *

## Sliske

My brother's human face was a much more pleasant one to borrow. Better kept, delightfully cragged, and with no required injury. The fools at the bridge barely so much as looked at me-him before passing me through.

_Lower on the hierarchy, I imagine. They won't have heard to keep him away just yet, assuming there is some order about his crushable face worming its way through the red tape._

_I suppose I could have simply dressed as one of them._

_I think I'd rather die than do that, though._

_Imagine if we each invested in a collective group persona. A singular human look swapped between us. The amount of places we could be 'at once' and the amount of sway we could pull would be extremely entertaining. Disastrous, inevitably and quickly, but personally that would be the point. Otherwise we would_ all _just pretend to be insects everywhere, and never find any trouble._

Birds I knew weren't there rustled in the trees around the courtyard on the other side, overseeing the people who oversaw the grim procession of order.

_What was here before?_

I felt like I remembered some sort of small town on this lake-island, which had clearly been very thoroughly dismantled to make way for the castle. "Permanent structures" were curiously terrible at sticking around. Assuming it had ever existed at all.

I slipped into the castle itself through a side door, then went down a hallway that seemed vaguely promising. It wasn't long before a voice hit me.

"Ali! What are you doing here?"

I knew Wahis far better than I would ever care to think about knowing Leukian; replicating how he moved felt like cool water compared to grit. I turned to the sound like he would, and raised a hand. The "I don't remember your name but am going to pretend I do until you tip me off either way" look.

They drew to a stop only a few paces away, and snapped to attention.

"Hello again," rolled Ali's voice. "My apologies if I'm intruding, I only meant to fetch something. I suspect I left a few personal items behind after our venture North. They would be with the rest of the supplies, but I can't say that I remember where that is."

The person - knight, squire, page, whatever they were - nodded agreeably, relaxed, and gestured for me to follow. "Of course! Right this way, you were close. Storage is right down these stairs here, and I think I remember where those crates were dropped off."

"Good, thank you."

We descended, passed through a locked door, and into the dark labyrinth of metal shelves, stacked crates, confiscated weaponry, what-have-you. It had a stifling, suffocating kind of air, and I decided that this would either be Azzanadra's personal paradise or personal torment.

We searched for an agonizingly long amount of time, at an agonizingly slow pace, which I was bound to by my brother's horrible way of doing things. Carefully, one-by-one, poking through. I could have been through everything in a matter of minutes, and it felt as though whatever time I had saved by using a face that allowed me to ask directions was negated by the current misery.

I nearly shouted when we finally found what was clearly the correct pile of junk, but managed to pin it to nothing more than a low strain in the voice. "Ah! Here it is. Yes, and here is the case, wedged in on top. You have my gratitude for your assistance. I believe I can see myself out."

"I'm glad we managed to find it! It must be important if you travelled all the way back here. Are you sure?"

I nodded, pressing my-his lips together in the “thoughtful but for someone else's benefit” expression. "Quite sure. I wouldn't think to take up more of your time. I will just make sure everything is still inside, then be off."

"Well, alright! Just call out if you get lost, someone will come find you. It happens plenty down here. Be seeing you, Mister Ali!"

I gave another flat-handed wave as they departed, waited until they were out of sight, then threw myself several layers of shadow away with an audible exhale of relief.

_Mah kill me._

I shed the skin in favor of my own, crouched to the floor, and cracked open the clasps of the case. I wasn't sure what I had expected to find - a normal briefcase interior, maybe - but I knew the answer hadn’t been stairs.

Stairs there were.

A quick examination revealed where a kind of cloth had been stapled directly into the case's original lining, leaving it useless for its original purpose but ideal for concealing the entrance to a pocket dimension.

Almost tasteful.

I laid the open case out flat, stood, gathered up my robe skirt, and carefully picked my way down the uncomfortably narrow wood slats. The interior was dark, lit only by a few musty lanterns, and had all the ambiance of an overstuffed garden shed. I could barely discern doors to other rooms set in the walls behind the mess; junk discarded to the floor and boxes shoved haphazardly on sagging wall shelves, cuts of cloth tacked up in odd places, old paintings, bits of metal scrap, clothes that were entirely ill-suited for anyone. I had to stoop - the place was clearly made for someone an easy two, three feet shorter - as I picked through the disaster.

A hiss stopped me, and blunt snaggleteeth nipping at my ankle sent me back a step with a formless exclamation.

It was a cat. Orange, old, large, lopsided. Its squished face glared at me with express disapproval, its ears flattened down. Another yowling hiss was spat up my way, its banner-tail lashing, before it darted up the wood slats and was gone. I turned, nearly gave chase, and bashed my forehead against the upper frame of the stairwell.

Several curses, a bout of sitting on the floor, and one concocted story about how “to my _shame_ the Knights had lost the terrible beast” later, I returned to business. This search progressed much faster than the one conducted above: rifling through boxes which were already in disarray, scattering papers, using my foot to nudge through things. That was the proper way to find things.

Beyond a few outliers, he had items of the same sort kept to the same general area. Only certain things went on the floor. Other things went on certain shelves. He apparently considered wands and sex equipment as deserving of the same few boxes, which I both caused me to sigh and stirred up odd endearment.

I finally uncovered the box of jewelry from below a pile of old coats and magnets. Bracelets, rings, amulets. I spied a pair of religious icons - one for Saradomin, one for Zamorak - that had fused to both each other and the wood at the bottom under the furious force caused by them being kept so close together. The sight sparked the tiring suspicion that several similar situations were all around me, daisy-chains of disaster only waiting for a match.

A single amulet finally caught my attention; I snagged its string loop on a claw and fished it free of the mess. The Praetorians on my fingers glinted in the lantern light, joining my examination of the token.

_Same cut. Hazeel's hobby-work. Leukian's symbol._

I tossed it up into my palm, clenched it tight, smiled, and wasted no time extracting myself from the powder keg.

* * *

## Pict

Existing felt slightly less like shit than it had a week ago. I had gotten up a few times, mostly to piss, then gone right back under the covers. But it was still probably some kind of improvement. I was at least back under them because I wanted to be, like usual, instead of having to be.

I was also finally allowed to drink again, if you defined "allowed" as Jo - who was home, finally - sneaking me shots with meals.

So I nursed a very overdue buzz, head tucked fully under the covers, when I heard shoes touch the floor next to the bed. They hadn't come through the door, and weren't on the same side as it; they'd just materialized, by the sound of it. I weighed the possibilities.

_Guild bastards usually knock. Probably someone come to off me over something._

I pulled the covers down, just enough to look, and made a low sound as the only part of my brain that made good decisions recognized a few things about the person now in the room with me.

Size, mostly.

They were bent over, placing my briefcase down near the end table. Grey, huge, hands with nail-claws, hot eyes. I couldn't remember well, but he had probably been on the plateau.

I pushed my head up further.

"Hey." _Break me._

He stood and looked over the bits of me that were visible. I watched him look from my lips to my hand, where he fixated on my fingers for just long enough. I flexed them. He returned to my face.

"Hello." 

"Fuck do you want?"

He sat on the edge of the bed. It sagged in protest. "You seem extremely unconcerned by this."

 _Weird shit is just basic bitch shit at this point._ "Yes."

"I've brought back your things. You left them after the Ritual."

I frowned, squinting at the ceiling as I tried to remember where I'd left it. That was probably right. Ollie shifted somewhere against the crook of my side, where he'd planted himself about an hour ago, but I'd learned not to question how he got places.

"Ok."

"No 'thank you'?"

"You want one?"

He sat still, like he'd stopped breathing. Tensed like a coiled snake, his eyes tracing my hair. Then he shifted in place, and it was like the nothing hadn't happened. "I would like to talk to you for a minute. It feels long overdue, if only for me."

 _Oh, you're a cryptic bitch too._ "Hit me."

"Figuratively?"

I shrugged and adjusted the pillows so I could sit up more. It jostled Ollie, who wriggled his complaints and popped his fuzzy ass out to yell at me as he re-settled next to my side.

The Mahjarrat frowned at him, looked to the briefcase, then back again.

"Then I will figuratively 'hit you.'" He extended a hand like we were making a business deal. "Sliske."

 _Heard that one somewhere before._ I took it. "Pict."

I felt his claws trail across my palm, finger pads, and severed stubs as he slowly withdrew from the gesture. "I know. And you are from... Ardougne. Varrock. No. Crandor, isn't it?"

 _No way this fucker isn't into hands._ "Got there eventually."

He nodded, working his jaw in thought, and leaned back until he'd draped himself perpendicular across the bed. And my legs. "Then tell me, Pict. Have we met before?"

I rolled around where I might've heard the name before like it was ice in a tumbler. _Need a tumbler of something._ "You bring me some whiskey and I can find you some kinda answer."

"Next time."

 _Fine._ "... Only fuckers like you I knew before were Wahisietel -"

"My brother." A strange smile quirked at his mouth. "I was made first, but no one's ever believed that."

 _I can already see why, you dramatic ass._ "Him and Azzanadra -" 

The itch of the memory finally snapped into place, and I eyed the window. I could probably throw myself through it with the blanket if I had to, assuming I could get him off my legs.

 _Maybe he is still here to kill me, actually._ "- who I think sent me to rob your house, or some shit. Once."

He propped one arm up at the elbow, and waved me off with a limp-wristed hand. "Yes, yes, you snuck in. But you barely scratched the surface, and quite frankly that section - the Barrows - is designed specifically to be broken into. I just think it's fitting for them, really. Spend your life invading under a conquering banner, spend your unlife being invaded by people under the same notion of 'liberating' a region from a formless 'evil' instead of directly addressing the bad management. Consequences. Poetic. But, we weren't talking about that. We didn't even cross paths when you made your little quick-fingered visit."

_Nevermind._

Something about the way his voice flowed, almost monotone but with just enough kick to it, felt soothing. Easy to listen to, even if staying on topic seemed like a struggle. "Don't think I've heard of your ass before then. Should I have?"

"I'm not sure."

"I mean, have now.”

"You have." He pushed himself back up, brushed his skirt smooth, and stretched. "Just as I've properly met you. I hope everything in your case is still as you left it."

"You already leaving?"

"A short visit, I know. I am. Tying up the loose ends Leukian left behind. Unless there's something you wanted of me."

I did. There was. "Earlier, you said 'next time.' You bringing your ass down here again?"

"I would like to."

"Do it."

His mouth twisted into another curious, confused, amused, smile. Then he was gone.

“Bitch.”

* * *

## Sliske

_Terrible little man. Kill him. Put my hands on his neck, watch his eyes roll, bite off the rest of his fingers, tear him apart._

I felt electrocuted inside. He didn't have a single speck of reverence in him, and everything down to the way his mouth moved begged to be broken, put back together, broken again.

The feeling was probably nothing, so I tried to ignore it. It insisted on staying, even when I returned to Lucien's skin with the pendant around my neck. Dislocating the leg a second time lulled some of the feeling below the surface, either from satisfaction or distraction, which was enough to function.

I shook myself, then began to tinker with the amulet. I tapped it, I bit it, I rolled it between my palms. Leukian was not one for fashion, and by the relative crudeness Hazeel had clearly not enjoyed the favor, so it stood to reason that they had some function of control. Trouble was, I only had one.

_One. And if he fueled it himself, whatever web that these constructed might be tattered. Or-_

Or it might not. Irreparably, at least. I thought back to the grit that had been caked to my hind teeth. I recalled, too, the curious situation of The Raptor's chains.

_Recursive, in on itself. Self sustaining._

_‘Death is to be shared as our collective fortune’, isn't it?_

I spooled a length of humming string between my fingers, separating the strands from the network binding my wights, then slowly fed it through the face of the gemstone.

And watched the world distort in new fractals as the string split from the other end, unwinding and rebinding itself in patterns far off across the horizon. I watched it reel until the expansion stopped, settled, and snipped my end free to tie it around the amulet’s metal loop.

I didn't have any desire to have that amount of headache hanging off of me all at once. 

But it would do when it was anchored to something I could shed.

Catherby, where I began, turned no results. So I headed east, hopping between larger points of gathering and chasing night. Falador, Port Sarim, Lumbridge. I avoided Draynor; I knew well enough that anyone there would fall under Movario's type of project.

I swept up north to Varrock, and was rewarded with a cluster of knots so unexpectedly abundant that I nearly retched.

_Right under Zemouregal's nose. Rude of you, wasn't that? Maybe I'll slip him a note about it. A final mess for one of you to sort out. I'm sure he'd love the excuse._

The trail led me away from the city central, through the eastern business quarter, then up into the labor and accounting district. I paused at the base of the wide marble steps, the final dregs of daylight playing long shadows against the high walls and columns of the museum.

The gilded nest of most of them, it seemed.

I carried myself up the stairs as quickly as I could - which was not very fast, under the circumstances - and passed through the propped open doors. Stragglers of daytime visitors lingered, passing between displays of art whose crafters were either long-dead enough or rich enough to secure a position. Glass cases displayed old Saradominist iconography; remnants of Saranthium.

One member of staff, resonating within the rebuilt web, approached with quick steps while I watched a coin unravel into spindled legs, raise itself, and scuttle off into a corner nonexistent.

"Master Lucien?"

I did not turn to face them, and kept my voice low but fittingly authoritarian. The stakes were higher here than they’d been with The Raptor. 

"You know where to take me."

They nodded. We departed for the basement levels - another agonizing trial of stairs - and turned right at the central junction, passing over large displays of plaster, taxidermy, and metal, before coming to the barrier of a staff-restricted zone.

I was allowed to pass with an "Excuse us, this is a patron of the Archeology department," from my compatriot, and shepherded to a wing that stood under renovation.

Clusters of heads snapped to face me as we entered; I pulled my end of the string smooth, and they returned to their business, except for one. My guide left with a nod as he approached, his expression one of tangible excitement and circumstantial fear.

"Master Lucien! You're late to call tonight. You need ol' Orlando for somethin'?"

I latched onto the name like it was a line on its own, and stabbed hard at the potential opening. "Correct, Orlando. I require any updates you hold over the situation in Ardougne."

He flushed, and seemed to relax. Only a little. "I think that's the first time you've tried using my first name."

"If you have good news for me, I may even keep it up."

The tension returned; it was a short-lived triumph for him. "Right, right, o'course. Here, if you walk with me I've got the charts you asked for before stashed away. You were right, I'm thinkin'. We need a few more months time to get everything squared away. It's all dark, we won't know sh- uh, anything until we can actually dig it out and get lights going, but the scry picked up some chambers, whole rooms down there. Something bigger, too, that we couldn't even get the full measurements of! It has to be what you're looking for. And if it is, it'll be the find of the Age."

I scoffed to cover the hole in my knowledge. "Of course it will be."

Orlando nodded, adjusting his hat, and let a phrase pass with his breath that shot ice to my core.

I hadn't necessarily wanted to be right. Technically, I wasn't.

But I was worse than right.

I had underestimated things.

"The resting place of _Guthix."_

**Author's Note:**

> Feel like it still starts a bit rough, but I like how it progresses and consistency is a myth.  
> Just living my best life here.
> 
> This fic contains allusions to another fic, which is in the collection of stories that run parallel to the main series. Specifically, [Scarf and Feather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212619), which goes a little bit more into my take on The Raptor.


End file.
